The Lonely Road
by Waiting-for-a-mad-man-in-221b
Summary: Based off of The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks (well off the movie). If you haven't read/seen the lucky one, then this is the story of a soldier, Blaine D. Anderson, returning from duty after surviving some seemingly unsurvivable situations. The only reason he survives, he believes, is because of another soldier's photo, and he knows he has too meet the man, if only to thank him.


**Warnings for PTSD, mentions of death, blood, guns. **

* * *

The scattering of boots over dirt and rocks was all he could hear. It was quiet until they got into the tunnel. He counted off the civilians, there were women and children scared and crying. Living in these tunnels trying to escape the war that was going on over their heads.

This was the part of his job that Blaine hated most, seeing all these helpless and innocent women and children going through hell everyday. Having to live in fear of if they are going to get shot that day. It's the part he hated most because it was the part that Blaine could relate to most.

"All clear in here, move out." He ordered, moving onto the next tunnel. With his night vision goggles off he almost shot out of habit before he saw whom the mass of people who were approaching his platoon were. Another platoon, one not too far from his camp. He recognized some of the guys from the parties that were sometimes put on for the soldiers. He lowered his weapon.

"It's clear in there." Blaine said gesturing back to the tunnel they came from.

"Clear that way too," Said a tall, funny looking dude, he had warm, kind brown eyes and Blaine was sure he'd seen him before, but he had absolutely no idea what the guys name was. "Come on guys, let's move out," he said turning back to his men, the last word had barely escaped his lips before the shots were flying.

Or should he say falling?

They were being attacked from above. Three men firing shots into the pit they were standing in. Blaine started firing up at them, his men following in his actions, and soon the men scattered. Leaving behind two men down. One of which was the tall goofy guy, who had been trying to help the first guy that had had been hit.

Blaine checked them for vitals, both dead.

xXx

He was blinded by it at first. It was like someone was shining a flash light into his eyes, trying to get his attention. They succeeded. He sauntered over to the object that had captured his awareness. It was a picture. Just a wallet sized picture of a boy, well man really, standing outside of a tire shop. -mel's Tire and Lube. The rest was cutoff. On the back there was a little note, _Keep safe, Finn. –Love your "little brother," Kurt._

Blaine slid the photo into one of his many pockets for safekeeping, he would try to find the person who the photo belonged to at that nights party.

He was pulled out of his almost trance like state when Trent called him.

"Yo Blaine what were you-"

A bright ball of orange, and then blackness as he landed hard on his back.

He woke up the next morning, his head throbbing, and his ears buzzing. He remembered, and what he remembered was that Trent was dead.

xXx

That was a while ago. "A while ago" being 8 months. 8 months of hell. 8 months that Blaine shouldn't have made it to the end of. He had been nearly killed countless times in the last 8 months. But he had survived. He had survived and watched some of his best friends die.

But he wouldn't watch anymore of them go. He was getting out, and so were Jack, and Mark. They were in the truck now, on their way to plane that was waiting for them.

And his promise to not see anymore of his friends die was broken then. He heard the bullets whizzing past him, shattering the windshield. He looked to Jack who was sitting in the passengers seat as Blaine tried to stay in control of the monstrous truck. Jack's eyes were wide as saucers. Frightened, and Blaine could only imagine his mirrored them. He look up to where Mark was stationed at the gun on the back of the truck, he was slumped over it. Blood seeping into the bed, and Blaine knew that he was dead. By the time he looked back over to Jack he was shaking his head as if to tell him, and he felt his eyes grow watery because he couldn't escape this too could he? He'd had too many close calls and this was the world getting back at him. Giving him hope that he was getting out, going back home, back to his brother and his nephews and now he was going to die. He was going to die with Jack and mark in this stupid truck on the way to that stupid plane that had given him so much hope, and the picture that everyone had told him was his good luck charm, his guardian angel, was nothing but a stolen picture. A picture that had belonged to a soldier that he had never found. A soldier who he could only guessed was dead. Finn, Finn was dead and he was going to be dead soon too.

xXx

He ran the worn paper of the photograph through his fingers. The bus that would take him to his brother's was scheduled to come in another hour. Blaine could walk to his Brother's in that time. So he did.

It was February in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and it was cold, especially with a shaved head. Blaine pulled the beanie down farther, trying to cover his ears as much as he could, as he walked along route 3 cars whizzing past him creating huge gusts that nearly knocked him over, chilling him to his bones. He wished he still had his curls to keep him warm.

When he cleared the "kind of" bridge that separated the road from the now almost dry marsh, and saw the baseball field where he had watched his oldest nephew play a few games before he was dispatched, he instantly grew warmer (but maybe that was just because he was nearly off the highway).

He turned onto his brother's street a few minutes later, his nephews were playing outside looking puffy in their huge winter coats, the garage door was open and Pav, his 1967 Impala, was there, shining like a beacon of hope. He was home. He had restored the car with Cooper and his father. That was before his father had all but disowned him. Before he had come out.

Sulley his younger nephew dropped his basketball when he saw his uncle, his curls, that were so much like Blaine's, bouncing around his round face as he ran to hug him.

"Dad! Dad! Uncle Blaine is here!" Trey, his older nephew called as he ran into the house to collect his father.

Blaine felt at ease for the first time in three years. He was so glad to be home, to be with his brother and his nephews and Cooper's wife Nellie. To be with people he loved.

Sulley hugged his legs, before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the house.

"Come on, daddy's been waiting for you!"

Blaine followed, and was assaulted with his brother's arms encircling him as soon as he entered the house.

"God Blaine it's so good to see you. I thought- I wasn't sure if-" Cooper's head dropped onto Blaine's-had he grown in the last three years? Or is he just holding himself a little straighter these days? - shoulder.

"Yeah me either Coop." And that was all Blaine was going to say on the situation, for now anyway.

xXx

Nellie cooked them dinner. A roast, potatoes, carrots, and apple pie for desert were all on the menu, Blaine's favorites. Cooper must have told her, and he was thankful for the little bit of home. Well, home before everything had gone to shit.

He helped with the dishes, even though Nellie had told him it was completely unnecessary about 20 times, while Cooper played a video game with the boys.

He could block out the first couple of rounds of gunfire before his subconscious took over. The plate he was drying hit the ground, shattering, just like the windshield had that day... And then he was clutching his head in his hands. He knelt down, not caring that he was kneeling in glass, not feeling anything. He rocked back and forth, his head smacking into the counter.

"Blaine, Blaine honey you're ok. You're safe you're home." Nellie tried to comfort him, placing a hand on his back but this only made Blaine freak out more.

"No! No! Don't! No-no-no-no-no." He said in rhythm with his rocks. She backed off, yelling, "Cooper turn the damn game off!" He did and then ran into the kitchen dropping to his knees in front of his terrified baby brother. He grabbed his head, so it wouldn't hit the counter, and Blaine flinched, his eyes squinting tight, and his breath coming in sharp broken whines.

"Blaine please look at me. Look around. You're not there, you're safe with me ok?" Blaine looked up at him through his eyelashes.

His breath evened slightly, but his eyes remained shut. He slowed his rocking, taking deep breaths. _Don't think of it all, Blaine. Don't think of them. Don't think of all of them still over there. Don't think of the pit, don't think of the bomb, don't think of the truck. Don't ' 'tthinkdon'tthinkdon'tthink. _

"Coop?" His voice small and shaky, his eyes blinking open slowly, reality coming into view. He was safe. He was with Cooper. He never had to go back there again, thanks to his PTSD, and the debilitating migraines it caused that could put him out for days.

"Yeah buddy, it's me. I'm here ok?" He wrapped his arms around his shaking brother. "I'm here, you're safe."

xXx

Blaine was 22.

22 and sleeping in his nephew's room.

22 and didn't have a clue where he wanted the rest of his life to go.

He was out of the Marines, he hadn't gone to college, had no other interests. He was lost.

He retrieved the picture from where he had pressed it between two pages of his book. He toyed with the warn edges, he flipped it over and stared at the message. _Keep safe Finn. –Love your "little brother," Kurt._ And Blaine couldn't help but feel bad. Finn hadn't kept safe, or at least Blaine guessed he hadn't. If he had he would have collected this picture.

It might seem like something trivial to put so much hope into but when you're out there, hundreds of thousands of miles from home, not knowing if you'll make it back to see your family again, a picture can save you. It can give you the motivation to fight, because one look at a smile on the face of your brother or your nephew sticking his tongue out at the camera while the other pouts because he had to wear a stupid itchy sweater, and all that suffering is worth it if you're able to see them again.

Yes you want to make it out of that hell for you but you want to make it out for them even more. You want to make it out so that they can stop worrying about you. You want to make it out so that you can put that picture away because you have the real thing. The solid things to hold onto when you are scared, or when you just need your big brother to look after you.

He put the picture over his heart, so thankful for it. It had gotten him home. He decided then that he had to thank this boy, Kurt, he owed his life to him and he needed to tell him that.

He felt exhilarated by the thought of meeting him. He threw off the covers, no longer tired.

He found Cooper's laptop on the kitchen table; he powered it up and did a quick search. He found that there were thousands of Tire and Lube shops. He tried mel's Tire and Lube, and got a fair amount less than his first search. After scrolling through the pictures, for what felt like hours, he found it. And what he found was Hummel's Tire and Lube in Lima Ohio.

Lima of all places.

About 2 hours from Westerville.

2 hours from where Blaine had grown up.

He opened up the web cam and recorded a goodbye note for Cooper.

"Thank you for letting me stay here Coop, it means a lot. I know I'm not the easiest guest. I guess... I'm just trying to find myself again Coop. I can't do that here. I really wish I could. I'm gonna miss you and Nellie and the boys so much. I mean... This isn't goodbye forever, just for a while. There's some stuff I've really gotta do. Bye Coop, I love you."

He found the key for the Impala, grabbed his duffle, and crept into the garage.

He brought the car to life, happy to see that she had a full tank, because he only had about 400 dollars to his name, and Lima was a long ways away. He flipped down the visor, sticking the photo in between the mirror. 10 minutes later he found himself on the highway headed towards Lima, not having a clue as to what he was going to do when he actually found this boy.


End file.
